


Bayou Wandering

by jaistashu



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Human, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Human Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Human Molly (Hazbin Hotel), M/M, Near Death Experiences, Violence, the Graphic Depictions of Violence are brief in chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaistashu/pseuds/jaistashu
Summary: Anthony is a 20-year-old son of a mafia head who only seems to be interested in fun—much to his father's disgust. After having a fight with Molly, Anthony storms out of their hotel room and into the nearest bayou to get a kill under his belt. That should get his family off his back, right?Companion piece to Le Fantôme
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. New Orleans

Out in the bayou lives a dichotomy. It breathes in the heavy wet breeze through mossy tree leaves, drinks from the stagnant salt-and-freshwater, and sinks beneath clinging mud. It sighs and lounges in the mornings between patches of glowing orange sunlight, nestles close to mother ducks, and walks alongside elegant cranes. In the dark, it flourishes through clouds of brilliant glowing fireflies, and through dinosaurs still prowling through the deeper, murky waters. Like good and evil, the bayou dichotomy exists within itself, pulling elements from fanciful childhood and the threat of death and weaving the ends of these symbolic braids together. 

Of course, Anthony preferred New Orleans. With booze, pleasant company, and partying as far as the eye could see, Anthony thrived in the atmosphere. The wet air persuaded others to wear less and drink the piercing flavors of local liquor while all but bathing in the warm aftertaste along with all manners of bedfellows behind closed doors. Nothing was better for the semi-closeted young spitfire than a true New Orleans Mardi Gras.

“It’s _wild_ out there.” Anthony heaved in a breath of inside air as he leaned against the hotel room door to close it. “Just a walk down the hall’s enough t’get tipsy! Jesus.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You can hear all the partying from here, can’t ya?” Molly peeked an eye through the curtains with a blissful sigh at the festive sights.

“Hell yeah.” Anthony smacked his body against the wall beside Molly and hooked a hand around the other curtain to pull it wide open. “Lookie at all those poor lonely souls. They’re just begging me to join the party.” 

Molly dug her nails into Anthony’s curtain and gave it a light tug as a sudden wave of panic shot through her. “Hey, hey! _Hey.”_ She tugged again. “Look, I know you’re jazzed about Mardi Gras, but we gotta—,” Tug. “—close—,” Tug. “—the _curtain—_!” She yanked the curtain from Anthony’s stubborn grip, accidentally tearing a significant hole as she went. The two stared at it for a moment before immediately abandoning all responsibility for the error and taking a healthy step back from the crime scene.

“Looks like Pa’s gonna lose his shit over this.” Anthony couldn’t help but let out a snicker. “Oh, bet’cha...one buck that his face’ll be red this time. You wanna place your bet on purple?”

“Anthony, this is serious.” Molly pulled the curtains closed and tried to figure out a way to mend the curtain hole. 

Anthony let out a huff filled with what would’ve been fake dramatics if his dad hadn’t been more or less pinching his ear and yanking him around everyday for the past few months. “ _Everything’s_ serious, Molls." He flopped down onto one of the hotel beds. “‘Anthony, what the hell are you doing going around them boys?’ ‘Anthony, you never come to the staff meetings.’ ‘Anthony, your get-away driving sucks _ass.'”_ He rubbed the palms of his hands into his eyes and over his freckled cheeks. “‘ _AN-THO-NY,_ what’re you doing spittin’ on our family name, you _embarrassment—”_

Molly’s hand held Anthony’s jaw shut. “Shh!” She looked to the door with wary eyes.

His gaze lazily fell on the door, expecting his dad and big brother to barge in and smack him around again. When nothing happened, Anthony’s eyes traveled back to Molly. With a lift of his eyebrow, he’d persuaded her to release his mouth.

Molly sat on the bed and settled her hands in her lap. “Anthony might not be a common name ‘round here. We might get lucky. But what’re we going to do if you blab where we are?”

Anthony’s frown deepened, and he looked away from Molly’s disappointed gaze. “‘An-tho-ny,’” he mocked in a much quieter voice, “‘You’re already 20 without a kill under your belt. When’re you gonna do your part in the family business? Sit and stay here so Molls can babysit ya.’"

"Oh, I let you out for a visit with the stairs, didn't I?" She huffed. 

"You _let_ me." Anthony let out a laugh and then a sigh. "Thanks for that. Really." A prideful grin splayed across his face as he shoved a hand into his pocket. "Speaking of which...guess what I got?" He sang and pulled out a five dollar bill. "A nice crisp five bucks!"

Molly's mouth hung open. "Wha—you were out of the room for maybe...15 minutes? How'd you make a fiver in 15?" She plucked the bill from Anthony's hold and inspected it.

"Ah, it didn't take much." Anthony shrugged and hooked his hands around the back of his neck to lounge in the most carefree way he could. "Just made a couple johns' johnsons real happy if ya know what I mean,'' he hummed with a wink. "I like these _N'awlins_ fellas. All liquored up and devil-may-care. A real fun group."

Molly smacked the bill down on Anthony's chest—who, in turn, let out a cough. She hissed, "Did you take stupid pills this morning? It's dangerous enough that we're all here in Louisiana, but—"

"—Yeah, why _are_ we all here—so far away from our territory—if Pa only needed—," His tone changed to a sickly sweet coo, "—the golden big brother?" His face slumped into a scowl as he shoved his newly-earned money in his pocket. "They're both pretty sure I'll fuck everything up. S'why I got a babysitter. S'why they didn't invite me to the meet-up or the stakeout or to the informant or whatever the hell else we're supposed to be here for."

Molly ran her slender fingers through her silky hair with a focused stare. "Well… Did you want to go to those things with Pa?"

"I think I'd rather get circumcised."

"Ah."

"But Molls, I don't get it!" Anthony sat up and threw around his hands as he spoke. "They're always dragging me along for this shit, and, suddenly, _radio silence?_ Did they give up on me? _Finally?_ I'm pretty lucky, but I don't think I'm _that_ lucky." 

Molly idly tugged on her hair and bit her bottom lip. "Okay, okay. Anthony, I love you, so I'm gonna tell you."

Anthony's eyes widened, and he leaned forward. "Molly, what's going on?" Did they decide to off him? That seemed extreme—killing family. But a small part of Anthony wouldn't be surprised if that was the plan. 

"Pa had to link up with his southern connections, and he figured that since it's so dangerous for us down here, you would _have_ to kill someone or get involved with the family business somehow. Like a one-stone-two-birds kind of thing." Molly's hair twisted around her fingers as she explained.

"Pa brought my ass across the country just so I'd shank some idiot? I shove people around all the time! How do y'think I can come home every night after a string of parties all around the fella district?" Anthony threw his arms in the air. "I make good money, and I don't gotta hide from everyone but our family and our buds. I just gotta ditch the coppers and serial killers. Easy enough."

"That does not sound easy enough." 

"Well, it _is_ up north." Anthony brushed his fluffy bangs away from his face. "I just gotta chance it with the people down here.”

Molly let out a frustrated huff. _"No,_ you don't. Just don't work down here! We're heading back up in a day. Just keep your head down and go do what Pa tells you when he comes back."

A silence hung in the air. "...what's Pa gonna tell me to do?"

Molly bit her lip again and twisted a few hairs around a finger. "Well, I don't want to get caught up in it, but… Anthony, I think...you might have to kill someone… I mean, starting out in another state has its benefits—"

"Wait, but you don't have to kill anyone! Why do I gotta do it?"

"What you do is so dangerous! You think we haven't been putting our necks on the line to keep the coppers from arresting, beating, and killing you? If Pa gets fed up and kicks you out, how're you going to survive?" Molly’s hands enthusiastically waved about, fueled by her frustration. “We’re here for a day, and you already can’t keep it in your pants?”

“T’be fair, I kept my pants on the whole time.” 

“You still did it!” Molly flopped back on the bed, arms hanging off the bed and eyes furiously glaring up at the water-damaged ceiling. “You still did some sex thing and got paid for it,” her speech devolved down into a hiss.

After a moment’s pause, Anthony slid off the bed and leaned over Molly, hands on his hips and skepticism in his eyes. “Thought you didn’t care about shit like that.” 

_“I_ don’t!” Molly’s arms once again flew out from her sides as additional punctuation. “But the US of A _does._ The coppers do. _Everyone_ outside me and the red light district cares. Pa cares! And I care about _you.”_ Her arms flopped down onto the bed as the steam she blew off fled from the room. “Listen, Anthony, I care about you, and I’m glad you can make money off things that make you happy, but the risk that comes with it is _huge._ I know our family’s in the business of death and dying and all that crap, but do you gotta race Pa into the afterlife?”

Anthony let out a short-lived laugh. “Guess it sounds kinda stupid when you word it like—” 

“—I mean, you’re always doing shit like this to piss him off.” 

“Come again?” Anthony lifted an eyebrow.

“Yeah, s’like you’re throwing the bird at him every chance you get.” When met with Anthony’s angry frown, Molly scoffed. “Like you don’t think about how Pa’ll get pissed when you woo a john out of his cash?”

Anthony gaped at her. _“_ I don’t do it to piss off Pa!” 

“Yeah, well, I noticed!” Molly sat up and turned to meet Anthony’s eyes. “Whenever Pa yells or nags at you, you throw up your arms and are just— You grab a coat and run off to God knows where!” She hissed, “And you come back bow-legged, with hickies, and with twenty bucks! ‘Fuck you, Pa,’ your walk says.” 

An angry spray of red bloomed in Anthony’s cheeks. “You take that back. If Pa pisses me off, then I wanna do something fun. That’s _it._ I’m just not gonna hide my life from him.” 

“Do you think you’d live that kind of life if Pa wasn’t so insistent about you joining the family business?” 

Anthony tucked his arms at his sides as his frustration further manifested. “Uh, _yeah!_ I just don’t hide it! I’m not a coward!” 

Molly lifted an eyebrow and rested her hand on her chin. 

After a pause, Anthony sputtered until he could form a curse or two, “Oh! Fuck right off! Don’t you _dare_ boil me down to a Daddy Issues Dipshit. I’d be who I am even if I was an orphan! Or if I grew up in the circus!” His voice fell into a growl, “I don’t think about pissing off Pa when I pull on tights, throw on rouge, bounce, snort, blow, or suck. It’s like—” Anthony gazed down at his hands, trying to gather the words to illustrate his feelings. “It’s fast, and it’s fun, and I’m _good_ at it! And I don’t get judged by high-and-mighty hypocrites.” 

“High-and-mighty hypocrites?” Molly gaped and climbed off the bed. “What do you mean by that? _We’re_ high-and-mighty hypocrites by sticking our necks out for you, killing for you, giving you a place off the streets, and—”

“Don’t do me any favors!” 

“Favors?!” 

“Yeah, favors! No need to worry about the family embarrassment!” Anthony huffed and yanked a suitcase out from under the bed. “Sure, Molls, I’m such a fuckin’ drain on everyone!” He let out an accomplished laugh when he found the particular gun he wanted. “Pa wants me to get a kill under my belt and earn my place in the mob? Fine, fine. No need to spoon feed me.” He stood, tucking the gun between his belt and lower back before pulling his shirt over it.

“What’re you doing?” Molly growled.

Anthony smiled wide and waved his hands in the air, finishing his statement with a flourish of jazz hands. “Pa’s Big Embarrassment’s gonna go suck himself ten million dicks.” His sarcastic smile instantly fell into a disgusted frown as he stormed out of the room. 

Without so much as a ‘don’t wait up for me’, Anthony sped off down the hall and down the stairwell, skipping two stairs at a time. With a yank of the outside door, Anthony was awash in the Mardi Gras glow. Walking out onto the streets of New Orleans in the midst of city-wide indulgence felt like slipping into a hot bath with a jug full of tequila just waiting to be sucked down. The jazz carried an infectious beat. The cheers lifted spirits all around—in both one’s chest _and_ one’s cup. Oh, New Orleans certainly tried to cheer Anthony up— _tried._

A voice laughed and cooed nearby him: “Where’re you going, cher? You got away from your chaperone that fast?”

Anthony inhaled the scent of homemade gumbo, king cakes, and moonshine and turned his attention to the john he’d finished playing with earlier. _Oh,_ New Orleans was trying so hard. “Ouais, amoureux, she’s not too quick on her feet. Bet I could lose her pretty fast in a crowd like this.” 

“In that case, veux-tu coucher avec moi ce soir?” He hummed with a wink. 

Anthony winked in return and flashed him a coy smile. “Non, merci beaucoup. Maybe tomorrow night, Sugar.” He walked past, turning and walking backwards to keep up the conversation until his final thoughts. “If ya see a huffin’ puffin’ doll calling out for Anthony, send her away, would ya? I’ll be sure to give you a quick hand when I get back as a thanks. A très bon one, I promise.”

“Ouais, minou, I’ll be here,” he called after Anthony with a chuckle. 

Instead of slipping into a nice metaphorical bath made up of liquor, jazz, and good company, Anthony turned on his heel and headed for the nearest swamp.


	2. The Bayou

On the outskirts of the city, there were parts of buildings and black iron fences which were taken over by greenery, bugs, and the glow of intermittent fireflies. It was certainly romantic, Anthony figured, but—more importantly—a few streets away from parades and partying. It was certainly close enough to the bayou to provide the privacy Anthony very much needed. 

Just one kill. No one associated with the law knew Anthony’s family was there—surely. Just one gunshot, and Pa would get off his back. At least for a week. 

Anthony settled in the shadows, appropriating part of a crumbling stone wall as a seat. His gun was nestled in his lap as one of his hands kept the barrel aimed away from every part of him. 

A giggle and a laugh swung each other away from the light; they took the form of two young party-goers intoxicated with not only trumpets and rum, but also with—if Anthony had to venture a guess—lust. Or love. Whatever. Maybe a few more kisses and longing gazes were shared than were heavy petting. The two leaned against a wall and gazed out at the stars and then down at the trees.

“It’s beautiful,” One said.

“It’s filled with gators,” the other warned with a smile in their voice. “With great big smiles full of sharp teeth.” They snapped their jaw shut for emphasis. “They’d sooner bite and drown you than mind their own business.”

One laughed and smacked the other’s arm. “Guess we’re not spending our honeymoon there if you’re too chicken.” 

“Too chicken?”

The two prattled on as Anthony’s fingers brushed against his gun. He only needed one death, and the universe sent him two prospective targets! 

“Listen, there’s other things in there that’d scare us off.”

“What—the cranes?”

He’d have two kills, and Pa would shut up for perhaps...two weeks. Maybe. 

“Well, you’ve been listening to the radio, right? There’s plenty of people who go missing in there and never come back.”

“Oh, that program is just for fun.”

Anthony rolled his eyes and tucked his gun back in his belt. Yeah, sure, they’d be two kills, but...but...it’d be better to off other mob guys, wouldn’t it? A couple of lovey dovey—probably drunk—kids no older than Anthony would make for a pretty dishonorable first dispatching. 

“Non, c’est Le Fantôme. It lives in there and picks off people.” 

“Your imagination’s too much. There’s plenty of things that could kill people in the bayou. Quicksand, gators, snakes, spiders—” Their sigh cut off their list. “The bayou doesn’t need any help from a ghost.”

The couple’s voices died down the moment Anthony managed to get out of earshot. He kept an eye out for solid ground and shade and walked along a strict trail between the trees. The couple was a waste of time. He stomped around with a curse here and there until he reached a little bit of a clearing. 

Out in the bayou lives a dichotomy: Anthony’s fucks and cares—both of which Anthony was in the process of burying down deep within him as he kept a watchful eye on the horizon. His lips were closed tight, and his ears were wide open, listening for any black-hearted dealers in death wandering too far from the festivities. 

The bayou was simple once one rearranged their entire perspective. From the brick-and-metal buildings and the friendly glow in New Orleans, one would have to readjust when seeing the bayou—a place so earthy and dank, a sapphic scholar would praise it by alluding to Gaia’s fertile folds. To Anthony, a young gay man who lived in a claustrophobic sardine can of a city, the bayou was plainly foreign. The murky water lazily flowed downstream much like how the Cajun accent drawled compliments on an excellent batch of boiled crawfish. The trees stood tall, stretched their arms far, and at the last moment, their leaves dove headfirst towards the ground as if a painter had taken a flat brush and dragged it down the entire scene. Everything stretched down to the dark water where catfish swam and where alligators swallowed said catfish whole. 

Truly, it was the perfect place for a murder. No wonder the mobsters down south favored it. All it took was a gunshot and a kick into the water. Sometimes all it took was a well-timed shove.

And that’s exactly what Anthony was counting on. No doubt the loud activity from Mardi Gras was a perfect disguise for any murderous intent, so he remained sitting under a particularly tall tree for the remainder of the sunset. His steam had nearly run out when he’d heard twigs breaking and swampy footsteps smacking against the not-solid ground. 

“It’s not my fault, damn it,” A voice hissed in the early night. “No one told me that he wasn’t supposed to be found.”

Another voice growled back: “When you off a snoop, you don’t wanna be found out, idiot. Guess this is why you’re not the brains here.”

Anthony leaned around the tree he was camped under to catch sight of two dark figures weaving and bobbing through the bayou’s obstacles. Eager to make good on his goal for the evening, Anthony followed only just close enough to see the figures; getting caught would make things exponentially more difficult.

After a particularly annoying journey, the first man spoke up again, “Alright, there’s the point.” 

“...No, it’s not. It can’t be. Where’s the body?” 

“I don’t know. I left it on the ground here. A couple gunshot wounds. Broken ankle. Arms stretchin’ out to the center of the bayou. He was dead when I left him. No breathing, no moving, nothing.”

“Okay, either you’re a dumbass or the snoop’s not dead. If he had a bum ankle, he’ll be easy enough to track.”

“I don’t see a trail.”

“Moron. There has to be a trail. Get to lookin’.” 

Anthony kept his eyes glued on the men—or their vague shadows. If he had to pick them out of a police line-up, he’d have no chance, but that was fine. His body rested against a tree, his spindly legs and arms blending into the gangly shape. He aimed his gun. Taking one out would make it way easier to get rid of the other one. Oh, he’d have two kills in one night after all—provided that the remaining thug managed to be dumb enough to stay still.

Anthony’s left eyelid slid closed while the other stayed wide open. He took in a slow, calming breath, held it—

Man One let out a yelp and tensed, grabbing the other’s arm in a vice grip. 

Anthony flinched, unable to shoot. He muttered a curse to himself.

“What? What is it? You see a gator?” 

“The snoop…”

“What about him?” The other yanked against the tight hold. “C’mon, say some words!”

The first man released his hold and knelt down. Anthony could only assume that he was showing off his findings. 

“Jesus Christ,” the second man looked over the object—careful not to touch it. “That’s his hand? You’re sure it’s his?”

“Yeah... That ring was on the snoop’s hand, but… I didn’t carve it off.”

“Some gator probably left it.”

“...Yeah. But. Look close. Look.” His voice grew quieter as if there was another thing to hide from aside from cops. “See how the wrist is cut clean through? No animal can make that kind of clean cut. That’s from a blade.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The second figure’s tone was softer than it was before—skeptical, but not stupid.

“Maybe it’s...Le Fantôme…”

The second man scoffed. “‘Le Fantôme’,” he mocked. “Le Fantôme’s a ghost story. That’s it. We’re looking at a _real_ severed hand.”

“But where’s the rest of the body?” The first man challenged. He stood and waved his arms towards the rest of the bayou. “Do you think it just walked away? Le Fantôme carved up the body and spirited it away—”

“Bête! There’s no such thing as Le Fantôme!”

“Then who’s carving up the stiff I left here? Who’s out here at night hunting for dead bodies to dismember? Qui est-qu’il?!”

The two figures grew silent. Anthony was silent. All the animals nearby were silent. Or gone. Or dead.

“Oh,” a voice shot through the dead air, “you found my crumb.” 

Anthony shrank down against the tree trunk, his eyes widening at the third figure which strolled out of the darkness.

Sprays of red coated the new figure’s button-up and trousers. His upper body bowed towards the two thugs, and he reached out his hand like a mother reaching to take away her brat’s toy. “Be a dear and hand it to me.” He chuckled a moment later, indulging in his own joke.

The first man held up his hands to de-escalate whatever the hell was going on. “Hey, listen, we don’t want any trouble.”

The second man pulled out his gun, aimed and primed to shoot. “Glad to hear you made the body disappear for us. Bien merci. More than happy to leave you out here to your privacy.”

The new man-thing was at best _fucking crazy_ and, at worst, fully aware of how he looked and what he did _._ Anthony tensed in realization. Everyone was standing still, their eyes glued to the blooms of blood which spotted the third figure’s clothes. It could’ve been that he had just gotten done killing an alligator, and the reptile body would be hard to move, so maybe he carved it for better transportation. ...But then again the “crumb” was a human hand, not any part of an alligator. Regardless, the three were standing as still as the looming trees around them. 

Anthony aimed for the armed thug.

The third figure’s head tilted to view the second man’s gun. His form straightened, and his hand fell to his side. “Wouldn’t that be foolish of me?” The voice’s every vibrant syllable punctured the relative silence as if it were trying to speak over Mardi Gras itself. “Perhaps if we didn’t spend so long chit-chatting, I would’ve sent you on your way. But here we are! Three gentlemen in the bayou on a lovely night. You still haven’t given me the hand.” He offered his own hand once again, more insistent this time.

Again, a silence hung—only accompanied with the tense breathing Men One and Two provided.

Anthony clenched his jaw and slowly aimed his gun at Man Two. His left eye closed, and his right eye widened. No more wasting time. His index finger tightened around the trigger. His bullet shot from his barrel and buried itself in Man Two’s shoulder.

In the next breath, Anthony mentally cursed to himself for missing his target, Man Two fired and hopelessly missed as he dropped his gun, and the blood-splotched figure slit Man Two’s throat. Anthony only knew this because the bloody figure now stood where Man Two fell, and a spray erupted from Man Two’s neck. The background scream came into focus as belonging to Man One who turned and ran. The knife which had taken Man Two’s life soared from the third figure through the air and sunk into the back of Man One’s knee—if that second spray and shriek were anything to judge by. 

“Did I hit it? The special artery? The one that gushes blood and spills life?” The bloodied figure had himself a slow stroll to Man One. “Mm, it seems I have. How lucky for you.” He heaved a sigh which was half-heartedly inconvenienced—and more amused. “You’ve made more work for me, but you and your friend will ultimately pay me back in dividends! For now,” his voice fell into gravely glee, “I just can’t _wait_ to get started.” 

It wasn’t until man one’s screams grew varied in length and volume that Anthony’s breath of life was restored. His cold body flooded with warmth once more, and his fight-or-flight response had been reinstated. As fast as his legs could carry him, Anthony sped off—under branches, over puddles, through thick areas of trees. He didn’t look back for one second.

* * *

Anthony pressed his body against the hotel door to close it, his heart still leaping out of his chest and his breath still heaving in and out. He vaguely remembered sprinting past Molly and the john he’d promised some attention to. 

The bayou still clung to his clothes. The mosquito bites made themselves known with a dull itch. The nightmare silhouetted by the dim moonlight still played behind Anthony’s closed eyes. Distant jazz was muffled by the hotel’s sturdy walls and locked windows. 

As his breathing calmed, Anthony’s gaze fell from the torn curtain down to the floor. It had all been so innocuous just hours ago. Hesitantly, Anthony stepped away from the door and over to the gun case by the bed. He knelt and pulled out the gun that had accompanied him. As if it were glass, Anthony held it gently over the other few guns which were left behind. His thumb brushed against the weapon’s surface before tucking the gun between his belt and lower back. He pulled his shirt over the metal companion and closed the suitcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to hear the story of Le Fantôme, I've published a short oneshot of Alastor telling his ghost story on his radio program. Thank you for reading Bayou Wandering!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Le Fantôme](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26454133) by [jaistashu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaistashu/pseuds/jaistashu)




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